


Mending

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Fantasystuck [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Healing Powers, Injury, M/M, abuse mention, blood warning, karkat is a dragon, my tumblr is knight-of-heart-and-art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 07:05:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Bonus chapter forBlood Dragon.It takes place between chapters six and seven.





	Mending

He comes in late, and even after only a few days you expect that. You depend on it, though; not that he shows up only when the sun's low in the sky or after it's fallen past where you can see, but that he comes at all. You can't believe how fucking attached you already are to this boy, this kind beautiful fucked-up human. 

Dave.

Even thinking his name changes the pace of your heart. Slower, calmer, not so frantic-worried like it's been most of your life. Something about him mends the broken and terrified half of you; maybe it's how he grins at you, or that he doesn't say anything about your nature that's not either curiosity or admiration. He treats you the same whichever form you shift into, as quick to step close under your wing or into the arc of your neck as he is to reach for your hand. There's never any fear in those red eyes or on his pale face when he looks at you, no pity or disgust. 

You trust him. You _trust_ him. You've never trusted anybody like you trust Dave. He touched your horns and you barely kept yourself from crooning to him like a lovesick hatchling. Except that's ridiculous, because that would mean you were in love with him. Which...

Well, fuck. 

Okay. 

Now is not the fucking time. 

Dave said he'd try and be back earlier than usual today, talk his brother into believing he was going to get some baby animal to tame and train. Apparently he does that, it's one of the things he'll get excited and animated talking to you about, bright red eyes fixed on yours and pale slender hands moving like he's grasping at the words spilling from his mouth. Not like he gets when he's talking about what he does at the house, or about why he won't let you heal _all_ his injuries instead of just the few that wouldn't show anyway, or about his brother. 

His _fucking_ brother. 

You've never seen the guy. Dave barely talks about him, beyond terse explanations of what sparked off their "sparring matches" (read, Dave getting his ass kicked, over and over again for what has to have been his whole fucking life; you've seen his scars) or calmly terrified reiterations of why he can't leave with you, why he has to keep going back to it. You _hate_ Dave's brother, despite your lack of knowledge about him. You don't think Dave realizes that. 

The only reason you haven't gone to try and do something about the bastard is that you're afraid. Even in your true form, you don't trust your own ability to take down a grown human who's skilled with a sword. Maybe you could kill him, if you're lucky and don't freeze up...and if he isn't a magic-user. Which he easily could be. The trap you got caught in was crafted with magic, after all, and if there's nothing to prove he was the one who created it, there's also nothing to indicate that he wasn't. 

You're scared. This whole fucking train of thought boils down to that simple statement. Everything you know about Dave's brother calls to mind the sort of people who killed your mother (father? you never even knew which of your parents was the one to guard the clutch you hatched from, only that their scales were scarlet chased with black and their blood was darker than the former and lighter than the latter, that they were much larger than you ever expect to be even as they lay limp and lifeless on the ground), shattered the eggs that held your unhatched siblings, and...well, took you. Did _things_ to you. 

You're not going to chase those memories around your mind again. Dave's going to notice if you're upset when he comes back. 

He should've come back already, though. It's past the time when he said he'd try to have met you at the cave, past the time when he usually gets back by; the sun is almost below the treeline and the sky is red. 

Dave's asked you not to come looking for him if he doesn't show up. _Sometimes he makes me stay,_ he said. _You're safe here even if I gotta sleep in the house,_ he said. _I'll come back sooner or later,_ he said, but he smiled too fast and too wide to convince you he completely believed it when he said that last one. 

You promised him you'd do what he asked you, and you told him you didn't break promises, but then again you've never been close enough to someone to make them a promise. Maybe you break every _fucking_ promise you make.

Maybe that's the kind of person you actually are. 

...now is not the time for fucking your own head over, either, so just shut up about that. Now is the time to pick up the leather bag with Dave's medicine kit, stow the cloth-wrapped portion of food you saved for him into the bag, and get the fuck out of this cave. 

You're not even completely sure where exactly the house is, but Dave leaves traces of where he's been. Not traces a human could see, he's too wary for that, but to your eyes there are red touches of light where he's stepped, a little clearer where he's brushed against trees and plants. There's a lot of these spots, in varying stages of fading away to nothing; you pay more attention to the brighter ones, from early this morning. 

He isn't hard to find. 

He's at the foot of a tree—an oak, you think, you've never learned how to recognise types of trees by looking at just the bark and there's no way you're looking up to see what the leaves look like, because Dave is on the ground, curled loosely like he's trying to shield himself, and you can just barely see his face but you can see that there is _blood_ on it. 

And he's still. He isn't moving. Is he breathing? Is he? 

_I'll fucking kill that bastard. If he's killed Dave I'll kill him, I'll kill anyone near him, I'll kill anyone who comes to help him, and when there's nothing left but blood and bones then I will be the last one I kill._

(Maybe this is why they say your kind are vicious killers. You've never felt such a horrifying surge of fury and bloodlust before. The worst part is that you know that if he doesn't move when you touch him, if you can't heal him, if there's no breath left in his body, you won't even resist the need to end the one who did this to him.) 

"Dave. _Dave._ " As you kneel down beside him, you can't remember any words that aren't his name. "Dave? Fuck..." 

He gasps and makes a choked noise as you pull gently at his shoulder to try and get him to uncurl, both hands coming up to latch onto your wrist as his eyes snap open. It takes him a second to focus on you. "...Karkat." The blood on his face is from his mouth; when he tries to smile at you you can see that he's bitten through his lower lip. "Hey." 

Apparently you haven't taken a proper breath since you saw him, because now you can't stop your relieved sigh. "Hey." The blood on his face is dried enough that you can't wipe it away with your sleeve; he's been here a while. "What did he do?" 

Dave shrugs and whimpers at the movement, eyes squeezing shut as he gasps. " _Gods—_ my chest. Ribs. Broke at least one, probably, feels like when I got too fuckin' close to a trader's horse and it ki— _ahh!_ " 

His breathless words turn into a yelp as you pull his shirt up to look at his chest. You hate hearing that pained sound come out of him, but at least it covers up your own angry hiss. The whole right half of his torso, waist to shoulder, is mottled blue-purple-red, skin split and bleeding in more than one place, not one unmarked spot to be found on that side. 

_Fuck._

Dave slowly rolls over as you try to control your urge to hurt something. (Something that isn't him, obviously.) His face twists with every movement, even though you try to help him, and when he does end up flat on his back he offers you a weak smile, taking a few shallow breaths. "I'm okay," he tells you. 

That's so ridiculously inaccurate that you actually do laugh, one short surprised sound that Dave snorts at. "You fucking liar." You say it gently, though, as you carefully run your fingertips across his chest. At least three ribs cracked or broken, you think; you can sense blood pooling around the breaks, not flowing like it should be or seeping like it is where he's bruised. "You can't get back to the cave, can you?" 

He tries to shake his head, winces, and sighs. "Moved as much as I can...I'm sorry—" 

"Shh." There's fine white hair fallen across his face; you brush it back before you get to your feet. "I'm going to change, alright? See how much of this shit I can fix." 

"Mhm." Dave turns his head to watch as you back away and look down, and you look up again in time to catch the smile on his face when you shift from human-ish to fully dragon. He _likes_ you like this. That's...weird as fuck. "Might pass out when you start in on the licking, man," he mumbles as you curl around him, half-closing his eyes and reaching out with one hand. "Everything _already_ hurts." 

You give him a purring growl of acknowledgement and coil the tip of your tail around his arm, halfway up to his shoulder. _I'm so fucking sorry._ You can't say it, but you think it as you bite down on your tongue. For the cuts he's come back with before, you only had to nip hard enough to make yourself bleed just a little, let a tiny bit of blood mix with your saliva, spread it across his wounds, and he healed without even making you really think about it. For this, though, you bite deep hard enough to let your mouth half-fill with blood before you start licking. 

Dave is not looking at what you're doing, which is good. You don't even like looking at it yourself. To get blood into his cuts and gashes, you have to drag your cat-rough tongue against his skin hard enough that it opens the injuries up again, washing away the half-clotted mess and starting him bleeding again in more than one spot, your brighter red blood mixing with his. 

It's messy, at first, and it _has_ to be hurting him. 

Dave stays quiet for the first stroke of your tongue, gasps at the second, and moans in pain at the third. By the fourth, though, he's limp and unconscious, and you're so fucking thankful for that. It lets you keep cleaning out the cuts, forcing your blood down into them and concentrating to make sure it keeps moving to where he needs to be healed. 

By the time your tongue stops bleeding and the cuts on Dave's body are closed, the sun's gone and the sky's fading to dark purple. His bruises actually look a lot worse, but you know that that's only because they're healing faster than normal, passing through the spectrum of colors they'd usually take a week or two to go through in the span of a few hours. 

His ribs aren't healed yet. You didn't expect them to be. You clean off his face, then you coil more securely around him, tuck your head down next to his chest, and pull one wing across so the tip covers your eyes. It's like a blanket for him, too, warmer than the fabric nest he has back at the cave hideout. You wish he'd sleep outside with you like this instead of in there; it's more comfortable. Safer, even if he doesn't believe it. 

Maybe you'll ask him again in the morning. When he's more healed. (And he will be, because this is the one thing you're good at.)

Right now, though, Dave's asleep, and you close your eyes and follow his example.


End file.
